Page 41 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

‘How much did we win again?’

Reaching into her suitcase, where she’d hidden it in her underwear, Flick produced a wad of bank notes.

‘Eight thousand, seven hundred and fifty euros, plus the original two fifty wager, so nine thousand total.’

As Flick said it out loud, they had to take a moment to let it sink in.

‘That’s so much money.’

‘I know.’

They both stared at the bundles of cash, neatly bound in their paper wrappers.

‘With my half I could pay off some of my credit cards, maybe even get together a rental deposit for a flat . . .’ Maggie was thinking out loud as possibilities began opening up before her.

‘Or together we could afford to rent a car and pay for hotels and go after the bastard who stole your entire life savings,’ finished Flick.

‘But that’s just crazy.’

‘Is it, though?’ Flick frowned. ‘Women are always being called crazy, or emotional, or irrational, or hysterical – “the psycho ex”, “the crazy ex-wife” – but we never are. We’re just reacting to bad situations. We’re taking control and standing up for ourselves and refusing to take it lying down. It’s not us that are crazy, it’s the situation. Notice men are never called crazy,’ she added, raising an eyebrow.

A memory of seeing Him last night flashed through Maggie’s mind. The rest of the evening was a blur, but not that. That was clear, like she was watching it in high definition. Seeing him again. The way he moved confidently, the way he looked across the salon as if he owned it. The way his eyes glossed over her without even seeing her.

But then he never did see her, did he?

‘Don’t give up now, Maggie.’

Instead, he told her she was crazy.

When her gut instinct had told her something was up, he’d said she was being crazy and she’d believed him. She’d doubted herself and trusted him. And look where that had got her.

She thought about the enforcement notice in her handbag. The wreckage that was her life waiting for her back in the UK. Why had she really come here? What was her real motive? Was it truly to help protect other women? To seek justice? Find closure? Was she hoping to recoup some of her money or get her dad’s watch back? Or was it to try and get revenge? To make him pay for what he did to her? Seeing him last night had brought hot flashes of fury; he was going on a luxury cruise while she was about to become homeless.

Or is it something else? a voice whispered deep inside of her. Are you here to see if you still love him? If there is any chance he still loves you? If he ever loved you?

Oh, Maggie.

‘I know when you agreed to come, it was for just one night . . .’ Flick’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘So I know I’m asking a lot.’

Maggie shifted her gaze to Flick. Every scared, reluctant, bruised and battered cell in her body was telling her to get on a plane and go home. But she didn’t have a home. Not for much longer anyway. And after so many months of feeling numb, feeling scared was better than feeling nothing.

She smiled. ‘How’s your Italian?’

Rome

Day Two

Twelve more days to go

The Road Trip

‘So, have we got everything?’

Putting on her seatbelt, Flick adjusted the rear-view mirror. Having finished up the car rental paperwork, she was now sitting in the driver’s seat of a bright red Fiat 500. Despite her outward confidence, she felt abruptly nervous. She’d never hired a car abroad, let alone driven on the right-hand side of the road, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Maggie.

‘Yes.’ Finishing putting the suitcases in the boot, Maggie and her hangover slid next to her in the passenger seat in dark sunglasses. ‘Apart from our minds, but we lost those hours ago.’

Choosing to ignore her, Flick turned the ignition, put the car into first and pulled out of the car park. And straight into oncoming traffic.